


born into a grave

by bravest



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:09:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time Kieren gets a real canvas. A big one, as tall as his torso, because whatever size he gets it will never be big enough to encompass Amy Dyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	born into a grave

It's a slow process. Painting has become something Kieren feels he no longer has a right to enjoy, so bringing a rough sketch on canvas to full colors takes much more out of him than it used to.

It feels good, though. The more he paints, even if it's painstakingly slow, the more he feels a little more like himself; the more he can remind himself that he is still that Kieren, the one that constantly had dried paint under his nails, in the crease of his fingers.

It took Kieren a while, but circumstances push him to start painting again, and his first subject his Rick. After the funeral, the picture of him in his uniform and smiling burned itself into Kieren's eyelids. He'd ignored anything his parents had said and gone straight to his room, picking up his brushes and paint, and had started.

Finishing it felt good, painting it was a release. It wasn't even a big canvas, just a small thing, but he'd wanted to get everything just right, had needed to. It was part of his goodbye. He put up the painting with the others, on his wall. Rick had once been everything to him, but Kieren didn't want to live that way again. He had the box, and his memories, and he would paint Rick until the ache in his chest was nothing but smears of paint.

Months later, and it's Amy he paints. This time Kieren gets a real canvas. A big one, as tall as his torso, because whatever size he gets it will never be big enough to encompass Amy Dyer.

Losing Amy is a different kind of grief, but not any less important. It's vast and grand; she leaves a void behind her, a black hole, a space no one else would ever fill. She was laughter and a bright beacon of hope for his eternal life as one of the damned. Even after death, she's still there, influencing, making him stand up straight in front of the mirror, look at himself and face who he is, even if for the briefest moment.

When Kieren paints her, he paints her smiling. He does it from memory, because he wants it to be his. Not a picture someone else took of Amy smiling at a stranger or someone else's joke. He wants it to be his Amy, the one that smiled at him whenever she saw him, that hugged him more tightly than anyone ever had.

This is Kieren Walker, painting Amy Dyer as he remembers her. Every brush stroke is a memory, a thought, a word she spoke. It's the kiss she gave him, her hand always seeking his own, tugging him along to their next adventure. It's her laughter, her nicknames and her arm hooked in his, always.

It's the things he regrets not telling her. It's the guilt of not having spoken to her about Simon, to not have told her how much she meant to him, it's the regret of not having been able to say thank you, Amy Dyer, for everything. 

It's the things he loved about her. He paints along her smile so carefully, makes sure her eyes have that mischievousness to them, paints her hair in broad strokes to make it look as alive as she was, even in death. Even undead. Sometimes the smaller details feel like pulling needles out of his own eyes or like someone punched through his chest and ispulling out his heart by tugging on his veins. Sometimes he feels all his grief and pain ooze out from him, down to his finger tips and into the paint on his brush.

He doesn't stop until he's done. Being undead has it's advantages, after all, and with no hunger to remind him of time passing, he paints well into the night. He's too exhausted to do much else, and it needs to dry before he adds any finishing touches. Kieren crawls into his bed with his thought filled with images of his friend, the sun rising behind his curtains.

When he wakes up it startles him, like he forgot he'd painted it at all. Amy is depicted in warm colors, the kind she used to wear, soft reds and oranges and bits of greens and blues. It should clash, really, but it works perfectly. Kieren stares at it for a long time, then looks around his room, trying to think of where to put it.

He spins around a few times, even takes down that self portrait -- but nothing works. His room feels too small for the painting, and it doesn't feel right. He puts the self portrait back up, and then he thinks he knows where might be perfect.

The walk there isn't too long. He holds the canvas up, arm raised and  fingers clenched around the wooden frame, so it doesn't touch the ground. He takes deep breaths, even if he doesn't need them, and takes a moment to appreciate what's around him. Good old Roarton, yes, but although he can't feel it he can see the trees moving lightly in the breeze, and he tries to imagine it against his skin. He does this wondering if Amy did it every day, too.

Kieren doesn't knock, once he gets to the door. He opens it and manoeuvres the canvas inside, and then Simon is in the entrance. Kieren barely glances at him, strides to the living room, and finds that big expanse of green wall above the couch.

Simon follows, and watches intently. Kieren's used to that by now, and he doesn't acknowledge Simon as he hangs the canvas onto the wall. He can feel Simon's eyes boring into him as he adjusts it to make sure it's even.

Then he takes a step back and swallows hard and thick. It fits right in, and he wishes he could hear her exclaim about it, tell him now he needs to draw Simon, and another one of himself, so the three of them can be up on that wall. But he won't, he won't hear her voice ever again. No more  _BDFF_  or  _moregeous_  or  _handsome_  thrown his way.

There's a weight on his shoulder, which Kieren realises is Simon's hand when he speaks near his ear.

"It's beautiful. Looks just like her," Simon says softly, and Kieren brings his hand to Simon's, squeezing it before dropping it again. He appreciates the words, but the tightness in his chest is still there. The gap isn't filled, even if the edges of it are not as raw as they were before he painted her.

"I don't want to forget her," Kieren says, thickly.

"You won't.  _We_  won't."

Kieren doesn't say anything after that. He turns around and tugs Simon down for a kiss, then another, and then they fall in a heap on the couch and hold each other there in silence. Kieren thinks he falls asleep, Simon's hand flat on his back, stroking up and down, but he's not sure.

He thinks of Amy and Rick, sees them behind his closed eyelids, and his hand tightens on Simon's shirt. They're gone, but he won't forget them.

He won't forget Rick, because he was a consuming, burning light in his life once.

He won't forget Amy, because she was sunlight itself.

With Simon, Kieren will keep her alive.


End file.
